


A Room With a Lock

by Magnolia822



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnolia822/pseuds/Magnolia822
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after a drunken-hookup that ended not-so-wonderfully, Arthur locks Merlin in a room with him to hash things out. Pining!Merlin, Oblivious!(butsecretlypining!)Arthur. Reindeer jammies! Nightmarish singing!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Room With a Lock

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to AsyaAna for the beta and Im_not_a_lizard for the Britpick!

“Arthur, you sonofa—” Merlin rattled the handle and, finding the door wouldn’t budge, kicked the frame. _Fuck!_ Instead of alleviating his frustration, he'd only succeeded in stubbing the hell out of his toe. He’d forgotten he was barefoot, probably because he was still semi-pissed. “Arthur, you arsehole! Help me get this door open.”  
  
From behind him, Arthur chuckled.  
  
“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”  
  
Merlin whirled around. The git was laughing at him, _laughing!_ And why did he have to look so good while doing it—the corners of his eyes crinkling at the edges, his mouth quirking in a way that made Merlin remember what it was like to kiss. Merlin steeled himself against the pain in his foot and glared.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because I don’t have the key and the door must have locked when I closed it. We’ll have to wait ‘til morning, so we best make due.”  
  
Merlin’s stomach sank as he regarded his surroundings. He and Arthur were locked in the west wing of Leon’s country house (ha, it was more like a palace) in the room that was meant to be his (and his alone) for the night. In other circumstances it would have been pleasant enough—it was a gorgeous room with ruby damask curtains and a Persian rug that must have cost a fortune. As an interior designer, Merlin could appreciate the aesthetics. What he did _not_ appreciate was the four-poster, king-sized bed that stood in the middle of it all, mocking in its presumption. Damned Aristocracy and their ancient houses and peerages and bloody buggering hell . . . Damn Arthur for following him up here and shutting the ancient door for which there was no fucking key. He turned again and began banging on the door more loudly.  
  
“Shhhhhh! Arthur said, his voice edged with laughter, “you’ll wake the whole house.”  
  
“Who cares? I’m not spending the night in here with you.” Oh, he’d made that mistake before, thank you very much, and wasn’t exactly keen on subjecting his heart to another round of being trampled on by Arthur Pendragon, King of Oblivious Clotpolery.  
  
“Merlin, please. Don’t you trust me?”  
  
Merlin turned around and crossed his arms. “No.”  
  
Arthur grinned.  
  
They’d always been like this—antagonists, friends—then, stupidly enough, lovers. Merlin sank back against the door and let his weight carry him to the floor. He never should have gone _there_ with Arthur. He’d known even back at uni how unlikely it was that Arthur, footie captain and heir to Pendragon Steel, would want anything at all to do with Merlin Emrys, heir to a small goat farm in Molelwyn Bach—a town few had ever heard of, and even fewer could pronounce. But Arthur was Leon’s flatmate, and Leon was Merlin’s best friend. Merlin had found himself a fixture in their flat before long, and though Arthur grieved him with his merciless teasing, Merlin had also developed a horrendous, unexplainable crush on the idiot. The knowledge that Arthur had been known to go after blokes only fueled his hopes that maybe Arthur actually liked him, and that the teasing was some sort of juvenile attempt at seduction.  
  
One night, they’d gotten drunk on far too much sake and Arthur had kissed him. And it had been brilliant. Merlin couldn’t push Arthur down onto his bed fast enough, rid him of his trousers to get inside. He couldn’t devour enough of Arthur’s deliciously thick cock and Arthur couldn’t seem to get enough of his. They’d gone at it for hours . . .  
  
A noise from the other side of the room drew Merlin back into the present. He shifted a little on the floor, uncomfortable and embarrassed at growing half-hard from five-year-old memories. Fucking ridiculous. Not for the first time since the beginning of the weekend, Merlin found himself wishing that he and Will hadn’t broken up just before hols. Then he wouldn’t be in this situation . . . because . . . well, Will had been great, sort of, and Arthur, Arthur was . . .  
  
“What the hell are you wearing?” Merlin asked, eyes widening. Sometime during Merlin’s daydream Arthur had gone from sporting jeans and a pullover to long johns covered in holiday print. Reindeer, specifically.  
  
Arthur shrugged and looked down. Which made Merlin look down. Which Merlin shouldn’t have done, because Arthur’s skivvies didn’t leave anything to the imagination and, God help him, Arthur was so fit. And oh fuck, Arthur’s cock looked decidedly amazing—a perfect, snug bulge that Merlin longed to mouth. Merlin tore his eyes away and felt his face heat. At least Arthur didn’t know he and Will had called it off. He still had that protection.  
  
“You don’t like the reindeer?” Arthur asked, joking. “To be honest I didn’t expect an audience tonight.” Merlin fought a smile because he was supposed to be angry, and here Arthur was making it impossible. One of the things Merlin had always . . . _liked_ about Arthur was his unflinching pride in acting like a complete buffoon.  
  
“You look like an idiot.”  
  
Arthur clucked reprovingly as he closed the distance between them. Now he was standing in front of Merlin, crotch to eye level. This was Not Good. But Merlin wouldn’t give Arthur the satisfaction of looking. He fiddled with the ring on his thumb instead and willed his own cock to behave. Will. He should have maybe possibly stayed with Will. Then he’d have some will. Merlin snorted to himself because maybe he was drunker than he’d thought.  
“Well, Merlin,” Arthur said, drawling the first syllable of his name, “it’s drafty in these old houses. I’d rather look like an idiot than freeze to death.”  
  
Merlin scoffed. They were hardly in danger of freezing. But . . .  
  
“Wait a second,” Merlin said, springing up. The sudden action seemed to take Arthur by surprise. He fell back a couple of paces as Merlin blew by him and rounded the corner of the bed. There, Arthur’s suitcase sat on the floor next to his—everything annoyingly color coordinated and folded _just so._  
  
“What is your suitcase doing in my room? You . . . you planned this!” Merlin sputtered.  
  
“Sorry?” Arthur’s expression grew confused, but Merlin knew enough not to be fooled by the act.  
  
“This was to be my room, Arthur.”  
  
Arthur shrugged. “Leon told me it was mine.”  
  
“You’re a horrible liar.”  
  
“Takes one to know one.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Merlin demanded.  
  
“What _was_ that downstairs?”  
  
Even though Merlin’s brain was a little wine-fuzzy, he knew exactly what Arthur was talking about. He should have figured he’d never get away with his answer to Gwaine’s question during Truth or Dare. They were too old for the game, anyway, but still everyone had thought it a smashing idea when Arthur suggested it. _Just like old times,_ he’d said. _Oh, brilliant,_ Gwaine had seconded. _Fun!_ Gwen had chimed in. Merlin hadn’t really had a choice but to go along or face the collective ribbing of the group.  
  
He should have picked ‘dare’, but he hadn’t wanted to run around the house with a sock dangling from his prick or make out with Percy (or, even worse, Arthur) in front of the whole room. So he’d picked ‘truth’ and lied his way out of it when Gwaine asked him to describe his most embarrassing moment.  
  
Because Gwaine, shifty bugger that he was, knew exactly what that moment was, but Merlin would rather have died a thousand excruciating deaths than to ever utter it aloud. Ever. Still, he was an awful liar, and he recognized too late that his gaze had unintentionally drifted toward Arthur, who, at that precise moment, was studying him like germ under a microscope.  
  
Merlin had gone hot, then cold, and blabbed some story about being caught cheating on maths in sixth form, all the while vowing Gwaine painful retribution once they got home. Perhaps he’d kick Gwaine out of their flat; after all, Merlin paid more than half the rent since Gwaine couldn’t hold a job to save his life.  
  
No one had really been that impressed by the story, but Merlin had thought he’d gotten away with it. Until now.  
  
“Merlin? Hellooo? I asked you a question.” Arthur waved his hand in front of Merlin’s face and Merlin swatted him away.  
  
“Yes, and I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Merlin lied.  
  
Arthur bent down to get something out of his bag, and Merlin noted with considerable mirth that Arthur’s long johns had a butt-flap. He had to clench his jaw to keep from laughing. It was just like Arthur to wear something so ridiculous that Merlin couldn’t possibly stay mad at him. Because, no matter what Arthur had said, the whole situation had the feel of a set up. What he didn’t know was _why._  
  
“You’re lying again,” Arthur said, standing and flourishing his toothbrush. “Why did you lie down there?”  
  
“How do you know I lied?”  
  
“Because you were stammering and blushing and pretty much looking as uncomfortable as I’ve ever seen you. Kind of like you are now.”  
  
“Oh,” said Merlin. “I just don’t like that game. It’s ridiculous.”  
  
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. Merlin didn’t like the way he murmured _Hmm._  
  
“Well, I’m going to brush my teeth. You sit here and think about what you’ve done.”  
  
Merlin scowled at him.  
  
After their one night together all those years ago things had gone decidedly pear-shaped. In the morning, Arthur had been distant, pulling on his clothes with hardly a word, and Merlin had known right away it had been a mistake. Luckily he’d had enough of a sense of self-preservation to act like it hadn’t mattered. When Arthur had tried to broach the subject, obviously full of regret, Merlin had brushed it off.  
  
Even so, a little part of his soul had died when Arthur had said:  
  
 _Good. That’s good. I wouldn’t want anything to change between us._  
  
Merlin had known right then that he loved Arthur, and it was too late, because they wouldn’t ever be anything more than friends; it was what Arthur wanted. It was what Merlin should have wanted, too.  
  
But he wanted more, and their friendship, or friendly antagonism, or whatever it was, had never been the same. That was the greatest tragedy of all. Even now, the memory of that morning made his stomach churn.  
  
It wasn’t that he hadn’t had relationships or lovers; he’d had both, but Merlin couldn’t seem to get Arthur out of his head. Like the thing with Will. Merlin had realized he didn’t love Will when Will had asked him, just a week before this trip, where he thought their relationship was going. Merlin had panicked, Will had left, and that had been that. The horrible thing was Merlin hadn’t been that sad over it.  
  
After all this time he really shouldn’t want Arthur; it was that fact, more than anything else, which shamed him. It certainly wasn’t healthy. He hadn’t needed his therapist to tell him this (though she had). Gwaine, the arse, knew it too, but hell if Merlin would confess.  
  
Especially given the way Gwaine had found out: Merlin moaning Arthur’s name (loudly, apparently) as he wanked himself raw in the shower, not knowing he had an audience.  
  
It had all started one day three months ago when he’d popped out to the shop to buy some crisps. There, smiling at him from the cover of some bloody magazine, was Arthur looking sweaty, disheveled, and divine in his footie kit. _Pendragon’s New Goal,_ the caption that accompanied the picture had read. He’d known Arthur was giving up his position on Chelsea, but he hadn’t known until he read the article that Arthur planned to take over Pendragon Steel and make the company more eco-friendly. Merlin had bought the thing and had stared at the photos inside until he was so hard he thought he’d come without even touching himself, and that was not on.  
  
Thus the shower wanking.  
  
When he’d finally exited the loo with a towel slung around his hips, Gwaine had been sitting on the sofa in the living room holding the magazine, a huge grin on his face.  
  
 _I knew it,_ he’d said later, after Merlin was dressed.  
  
 _Oh God,_ Merlin had replied. _You better not say anything, you bastard. I’ll kill you with my bare hands.  
  
He’s single again, you know.  
  
Shut up. I can’t . . .  
  
Why not?  
  
Because, I can’t. God, this is so embarrassing. I still might kill you.  
  
Mate,_ Gwaine had said, throwing up his hands, _it’s not my fault you’re so vocal in the throes of ecstasy.  
  
The throes of ecstasy?_  
  
“Who even says that,” Merlin said to himself, shaking his head. He was _so_ going to kill Gwaine.  
  
“Merlin . . .” The shock of Arthur’s warm hand on his arm made Merlin nearly jump out of his skin. He was back with pink, wet lips and smelling minty-fresh. “You keep zoning out. What’s going on? Is something wrong?”  
  
“Just leave it,” Merlin said. He had to get away from Arthur with his ridiculous long johns and his adorable pout. Arthur who did a horribly offensive impersonation of a Welsh accent and liked big dogs and babies even though he insisted they had weird heads. Arthur who had brought him a half-eaten box of chocolate when he’d been in hospital with appendicitis; Merlin had groused but only later realized that Arthur had picked out all the sweets with peanuts. Merlin abhorred peanuts. He’d smiled for at least an hour until his sister Morgana came by and asked him why he was so cheerful, giving him a strange look like maybe his smile was bordering on imbecilic.  
  
“The way you’re acting is just proving I’m right,” Arthur told him.  
  
Merlin grabbed his bag and headed to the adjoining loo to change. What he needed was to establish some distance. Some boundaries. They’d be let out in the morning and then he could go on pretending he wasn’t still arse over tit in love with Arthur Pendragon.  
  
He wasn’t. He wasn’t. _He was so, so royally screwed._  
  
Back in the room, Arthur was sprawled out on the bed pretending to read a book. Merlin knew he was pretending because Arthur didn’t read books, and also the book was upside down.  
  
“I’ve heard that’s a good one,” Merlin said. Perhaps if he struck a joking tone Arthur would forget all about Truth or Dare and Merlin’s embarrassment and just go back to being oblivious.  
  
Arthur threw the book down and rolled over to his side, his eyes appraising. Merlin knew he was too skinny, but he was strong. He’d worked out since university and had developed some lean muscle to cover his bones, so he was no longer as self-conscious about his weight as he once had been. Still, something about Arthur’s expression made him feel utterly exposed.  
  
He stood and eyed the bed, on which Arthur was lying diagonally.  
  
“Um,” he said, gesturing.  
  
“Here,” Arthur replied, moving a little and settling on his stomach. “Plenty of room.” The stupid long johns showed off Arthur’s firm, round arse in a way that had to be illegal in at least twenty countries.  
  
Merlin approached the bed cautiously and drew back the covers. Now that Arthur had retreated to the other side, it was safe. Safer. He could do this.  
  
The mattress dipped under his weight.  
  
“So, why did you lie?” Arthur asked once they were both settled.  
  
“I didn’t. Please just forget the game. I’m tired.” Merlin fake-yawned to emphasize his point, but the truth was his body was buzzing from the proximity. Every millimeter of space between them seemed alive.  
  
“You looked at me.”  
  
“So,” Merlin said, reaching to switch off the light to hide his blush. Arthur delighted in embarrassing him, but Merlin wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. “I didn’t mean to.”  
  
“Oh. _Hmm._ ” There it was again! That hmm from hell especially enunciated to drive Merlin mad.  
  
It was quiet for a moment Merlin wondered if Arthur had dozed off. He listened to Arthur’s regular breathing, irritated he was no longer sleepy in the slightest.  
  
“That story about cheating in maths? That was a stupid story,” Arthur said, breaking the silence.  
  
Merlin grimaced. “Yeah, well, not all of us lead thrilling, important lives.”  
  
Arthur moved a bit, and Merlin had the uncanny feeling he was being watched even in the darkness.  
  
“What was your most embarrassing moment, Merlin? Really?”  
  
“Just bugger off and go to bed.”  
  
“Okay. I’m warning you: whatever happens next is beyond my control. You could have stopped it. Live with _that_ knowledge.”  
  
“Arthur—” Merlin said, suddenly growing nervous.  
  
 _“I’m Hen-e-ry the eighth I am, Hen-e-ry the eighth I am, I am! I got married to the widow next door—"_ Arthur sang at the top of his lungs--he truly had the worst singing voice in the history of the universe. Merlin groaned and grabbed a pillow to throw.  
  
“Ouch,” Arthur said, though the pillow couldn’t have hurt. He didn’t stop singing. _“—she’d been married seven times before and ev-er-y one was an Hen-e-ry—”_  
  
“Arthur!”  
  
“What, you don’t like my voice?”  
  
“Your voice is terrible. I hate that song and I hate you.”  
  
“I’m going to keep singing until you tell me your most embarrassing moment.”  
  
“That’s not even an original idea. You’re copying Patrick Swayze in _Ghost.”_  
  
“It worked for him.”  
  
“It was a movie, for God’s sake.”  
  
 _“I’m the eighth old man, I’m Hen-e-ry! Hen-e-ry the eighth I am!”_  
  
“I’m not Demi bloody Moore,” Merlin complained.  
  
 _“—the eighth I am, I am—_ could have fooled me you have her hair— _I got married to the widow—”_  
  


**Some time later… Much later…**

  
_“Thirtieth verse, same as the first!”_  
  
Merlin’s ears were bleeding. Perhaps if he could just make up a more convincing lie Arthur would leave off. He thunked Arthur with his pillow. Arthur grabbed it away.  
  
“Give it back,” Merlin grumbled.  
  
“No. You can’t be trusted.”  
  
“Fine, you want to know what my most embarrassing moment is? Snogging you. Stupidest, most embarrassing moment ever. It’ll haunt me until the day I die. Now give me back my pillow.”  
  
“I don’t believe you.”  
  
Merlin groaned in frustration and sat up to switch the light on again. Arthur blinked as his eyes adjusted.  
  
“I’ve got loads of very irritating songs in my repertoire,” Arthur warned.  
  
Merlin drew his knees into his chest and buried his face into them. “You’re going to be the death of me.” The alcohol had pretty much worn off and he’d begun to feel hung-over and legitimately knackered. He needed sleep, but at this point he doubted Arthur had any intention of letting him.  
  
“Hey,” Arthur said softly. “I’ll stop.”  
  
When Merlin looked up again, Arthur’s expression was surprisingly serious . . . it made Merlin’s retort die in his throat.  
  
“Why do you want to know so badly?” he asked instead.  
  
“Because, you bloody idiot,” Arthur said, sitting up, moving closer. He rubbed Merlin’s knee and Merlin’s heart thundered because Arthur wasn’t teasing him. In fact, Arthur looked very much like he might die if Merlin didn’t tell him the truth. “The way you looked over at me . . . I thought . . . I need to know if it’s about me.”  
  
“Arthur—”  
  
Arthur leaned close and whispered in his ear, so near that he could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. “I’ll tell you a secret. Five years ago I made a horrible mistake. I didn’t tell someone how much he meant to me. But there’s never been a day I didn’t regret it.”  
  
Merlin gulped, searching Arthur’s features for the truth—he couldn’t believe Arthur was talking about him, but he had to be.  
  
“But you never—”  
  
“You made it seem like it didn’t matter. That you were okay with—”  
  
“But you must have guessed I . . .” Merlin didn’t even know what he was saying. The blood was rushing in his ears and making him woozy because it sounded like Arthur meant that he actually _had_ feelings for Merlin— maybe he did still.  
  
“I can’t read minds,” Arthur said, “Though that would be really cool.” He gave Merlin a dorky smile, and Merlin felt his own mouth soften in response. “Sometimes I hoped . . . but then I thought that maybe I . . . that it was just wishful thinking. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was freaked out that morning, but I just needed a little time to think things through. I’d just never felt like that about anyone and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I’m not saying it was your fault, because I know I cocked it up. But you were so cold; I was sure I’d misread everything. That maybe I was just a shag for you. Then the other week at the pub you just looked at me . . . and tonight, Merlin . . .” Arthur trailed off, nosing at his ear. Merlin tried to stay conscious. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry. For my part.”  
  
“Oh my,” Merlin said, drunk on Arthur’s breath in his hair. Arthur was still touching him, rubbing circles on his knee. “We’re such idiots. God, you have no idea. Arthur . . .”  
  
“Tell me if you still—that you—”  
  
“Are you kidding me?”  
  
Merlin kissed him. It started as a light press of lips, small movements that tickled and sent shivers up Merlin’s spine. He kept the motion hesitant because he still didn’t trust his heart, afraid maybe it was a cruel joke, though if it were Arthur had never been cruel like this before.  
  
Then Arthur moaned—an unintentional sound that was all the encouragement Merlin needed. He pushed forward, sealing their lips together, welcoming the intrusion of Arthur’s tongue as the kiss grew hard. Suddenly there wasn’t enough, not enough hands or skin or mouths or even teeth. He drew Arthur’s bottom lip between his and then licked inside, the slippery wetness and utter perfection making him groan his own response. Merlin found himself pressed down into the mattress, trapped under Arthur’s weight. Pleasure spiked through him at the nudge of Arthur’s cock against his hip.  
  
“You have no idea how crazy you’ve made me,” Arthur said, moving to slide his erection over Merlin’s, speaking between kisses.  
  
“Oh, I think I have some idea.” He grabbed Arthur’s arse and laughed when his hands easily slipped inside the long johns. But laughing no longer seemed like a good idea when Arthur turned his attention to Merlin’s neck, biting at the tender flesh under his ear.  
  
“Wait, wait a second,” Arthur said. Merlin held his breath, not sure if he’d survive if Arthur pulled away now. “I’m really going to regret asking this, but what about Will?”  
  
“We broke up.”  
  
“Oh . . . I’m sorry. When?” Arthur said, which was a bit awkward, since he was hard and slowly moving his hips against Merlin as he spoke.  
  
“A bit ago. I’m not sad. We can talk about it later.” Merlin really, really didn’t want to be thinking about his ex-boyfriend, not with his hands roving over the warm, lovely skin of Arthur’s arse.  
  
“Okay. But, er, I’m not going to be happy if this is a sort of rebound thing.”  
  
Merlin opened his eyes and looked at Arthur, his hair all beautiful blond fringe and lashes far too long and delicate for a man. He sighed. “You wanted to hear my horrible, embarrassing secret? I’ve been in love with you for five years. Gwaine heard me . . . saying . . . your name in the shower while I was . . .”  
  
Arthur’s eyes grew wide. He smiled.  
  
“You were wanking and thinking about me?”  
  
Despite the fact that he was pinned under Arthur with both of them quite obviously aroused, Merlin blushed.  
  
“Maybe. Gwaine apparently thought publicly humiliating me would be fun.”  
  
“That arse.”  
  
“Try living with him.”  
  
“And you . . . really? Merlin, you’re a frustrating twit sometimes, but for some reason I can’t seem to live without you.”  
  
Arthur’s hands cupped his face so tenderly, and something hot prickled at the back of Merlin’s throat because Arthur said something like _I love you, too._ He really, really hoped this wasn’t a dream because if so he was going to have a long, hard chat with his subconscious. But it couldn’t be a dream, because even in his wildest fantasies Arthur had never, ever said those words to him.  
  
They kissed again and Merlin arched as Arthur touched everywhere he could reach. Somewhere in the back of his mind he considered maybe taking his clothes off, but this was so nice, so warm, and if this was really true (and he was starting to think it was) then they could do naked things later. Merlin didn’t want to spare one moment away from Arthur’s brilliant mouth.  
  
“The thought of you wanking, thinking about me . . . Merlin, that’s just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.” Arthur’s hips were still moving and Merlin gripped him more tightly, burying his head against Arthur’s shoulder. Bloody hell, he was going to come in his pants like a fifteen-year old and he didn’t even care.  
  
“Fuck,” Arthur said, the word morphing into a groan.  
  
They kissed again, sloppily, hips working in quick, jerky movements. Merlin’s orgasm surprised him, leaving him shaking and breathless, clinging onto Arthur as the uncomfortable wetness began to seep through his sweats.  
  
“Hmm,” Arthur said as he nuzzled Merlin’s neck. “I should lock us in bedrooms more often.”  
  
Merlin tried to muster a glare but couldn’t, sleepy and relaxed in Arthur’s arms. He smiled instead. “I knew it, you prat.”


End file.
